


Hot and Cold

by libraryv



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: First Kiss, garden party, summertime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:41:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24992479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libraryv/pseuds/libraryv
Summary: An outdoor party, and a first kiss. I wanted a little taste of summer. :)
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 20
Kudos: 91





	Hot and Cold

Strike was smoking in his sister’s garden as another wave of sound reached him. He was tucked away in the rapidly dimming sunlight, around the corner and out of sight, in front of a trellis laden with climbing sweet peas. The burst of noise was getting closer; voices were shouting over each other joyfully. He could pick out the snort of Robin’s laughter, a merry crescendo that caused the corners of his mouth to pull up in an unconscious echo. 

The French doors opened, and adults and children spilled out of them onto the patio. It spoiled his solitude, but he didn’t mind. Especially when Robin came forward, her steps slow and hesitant.

“Warmer!” came Jack’s gleeful voice, and Robin took a few more steps, veering in the direction of the treehouse.

“Colder!” 

Strike watched as she turned back around and slowly headed in his direction. She couldn’t see him, so he allowed himself the pleasure of watching her for a few moments. His eyes ran down her figure: the form fitting shirt, the gauzy summer skirt that ended at her knees, showing smooth legs. He had been imagining his hands on that skin all night.

He exhaled, a little more forcefully than he needed, then looked at the grass, chiding himself and feeling slightly inappropriate. He had been taking more and more of these moments lately; letting himself see Robin as the attractive woman she was. 

Over the past few weeks, he had mentally crossed a threshold that he had previously held non-negotiable. His resolve had crumbled, and he unceremoniously, absolutely, didn’t care.

Somewhere along the line, he had allowed himself to want Robin.

And Jesus, he fucking _wanted_ her.

The trouble, he ruminated, as he watched the last rays of sunshine dappling amid the neighbour’s tree, was how and when to act on it.

“Yep, warmer!”

Robin continued to walk softly along the grass; if she came any closer she’d round the corner and see him. Not to mention she could probably smell the smoke; he should just step forward. 

“Warmer, warmer!” 

Strike watched with amusement as she turned the corner and saw him, stopping short. She gave him a fond, knowing look.

“I thought you might be hiding back here.”

“Guilty as charged,” he grinned back.

“We’re playing hot and cold,” she explained, as Jack shouted gleefully from somewhere in the laughing crowd of guests on the patio,

“HOT!”

“In case it isn’t obvious,” she added, smiling.

He drew from his cigarette, returning the smile on an exhale.

“Robin?” came Jack’s voice again, and Robin stepped closer.

“Ro-BIN! Where’d you go? Are you around the corner?” exclaimed Jack in indignant tones, and Strike’s eyebrows climbed in mock astonishment.

Robin smiled and stepped forward, closer still, close enough that Strike could almost reach out and touch her.

“I’m about to be discovered and set on course correction, in a moment,” she said playfully, and turned to leave. 

Strike wasn’t sure what made him do it, wasn’t sure what made this moment, of all moments, the one, but he reached out and his fingers closed slightly around her wrist. She swiveled her head towards him, expression unreadable, and there was a second of panic where he thought he’d misread everything, he’d screwed it all up-

She stilled, then stepped properly towards him, right in front of him.

“Am I getting warmer?” she whispered, and he let out a tiny huff of disbelief. 

She was looking up at him expectantly, and he splayed his hand gently on her lower back, tugged her towards him, and bent his head to hers. 

Her lips opened underneath his, soft and tasting slightly of Sangria. His senses were on fire; the cigarette stub burning the fingertips of his right hand, the tipsy laughter from the group of the patio sounding like an underwater echo, the slight citrus-vanilla scent of Robin’s hair.

He felt drunk with joy; intoxicated with the bliss of it, with Robin. His hand on her back pulled her closer, and he was deepening the kiss. She was matching him, her tongue stroking his, and his body was lit up with desire, warm signals of pleasure rocketing straight to his groin. Robin was moving with him, she ground her hips in that flimsy skirt right against his cock. The contact was pure bliss, pure torture, and he groaned openly into her mouth. They were building a rhythm, and he was losing some finesse; primal male drive was taking over. To hell with the garden party, he was going to pull them deeper into the shadows and just-

“ROBIN!” shouted a small voice, indignant, and they broke apart, the spell broken.

She grinned at him; one last evening sunbeam. Then she turned and went around the corner, leaving him alone in the deepening shadows, heart racing and his cigarette almost burned clear to ash.


End file.
